


Four Times Cyclonus Says I Love You (And One Time Tailgate Says It Back)

by Culture_Shock



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Five Times Prompt, Fluff, I Love You, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, feel good fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 02:42:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20332720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Culture_Shock/pseuds/Culture_Shock
Summary: Title says it all. Shameless CyGate fluff. <3





	Four Times Cyclonus Says I Love You (And One Time Tailgate Says It Back)

"Wish me luck!” Tailgate cheered with a wave to Cyclonus who only nodded with a soft smile in response. He was standing with his back against the wall, arms folded, watching closely as Tailgate ran off to take his place for the poorly named Friendly Fire Face-Off. “I love you!”

There was little use aiming for first place with Bluestreak in the running, but Rodimus still boasted and bragged his way through. It wasn’t confidence without merit -- he was certainly to make the top five, but coming in any place save first was a hard blow to an insecure mech. It was a good thing Rodimus never doubted himself, the Not Decepticon thought sarcastically.

But it wasn’t Rodimus’s pending breakdown that Cyclonus was focused on.

Tailgate had been holding his own fairly well, for someone with no combat experience running against a ship of veterans. Pointing this out was doing nothing for his self-esteem, however. Swerve had paid him a long-winded compliment that had turned self-deprecation halfway through, but Tailgate had only halfheartedly thanked him in response. 

There was only one competition left -- sharpshooting. Cyclonus could tell by Tailgate’s form that he was considering giving up. The dim glow in that visor pulled at his spark, but his only response to the I’m-Trying-Too-Hard gaze was a firm nod of encouragement.

Tailgate turned back around. Raising his weapon, he held a solid stance and took aim. 

The target obliterated. 

Cyclonus could make out an _ I did it! _ in the distance, Tailgate jumping for joy before doing his best to play it cool as Drift and Swerve came over to offer congratulations. 

His view was obscured by Whirl, who was literally eyeing him, the sole focus of his sole optic. His shutters were nearly closed, as shrewd a gaze as one could get with no distinguishing facial features. “I didn’t know you had a blaster.”  
  
“I don’t,” Cyclonus replied as he tucked his oxidating laser back into subspace.

* * *

“Oh, there’s Skids! That’s everyone now. Are you sure you don’t wanna join in tonight?” Tailgate’s question was met with an inclination of Cyclonus’s helm. As much as the Not Decepticon had come to appreciate their friends, he’d been craving a night of calm. Since the opportunity so rarely arose, he was inclined to take it before it passed.

“Go, have fun. I’ll be fine.” 

It was one last glance of doubt before Tailgate gave a nod of his own, visor brightening. The doubt had been vanquished. “If you’re _ suuuure._ I’ll be back soon -- love you.”

With a pep in his step Tailgate went to join their friends at the larger table, eager to put in his vote for the next film to be featured during movie night. It hadn’t come as a surprise that his nominee of_ Killer Klowns From Outer Space _ was met with enthusiasm, Drift and Rodimus perking up with interest at the loud and obnoxious title. Rewind rubbed at his chin, seeming to be won over when Chromedome voiced a noise of descent. 

Just because the mech had recently learned to _ pfft _didn’t mean he had to do it at every opportunity, Cyclonus thought with agitation. 

An equally obscure title was thrown out, creating a debate to be waged until Skids put in with his own nomination. Like a moth to a flame everyone rounded, each having apparently heard _ something _ about _ Amélie _but never having actually seen it. Whirl’s opinion ranked loudest when he stood, placing a spindly leg on the table and slamming a might claw down.

His vote was for _ Amélie._

Tailgate had slouched in his chair as his voice grew quieter and quieter amongst the throng, losing ground. He’d been holding off seeing the cult classic in hopes of getting to watch it with friends. In truth, he’d also been hoping the film had been vague enough that he could impress them with a title they hadn’t heard of. Instead _ he’d _been the one buried into the unknown, further discouraged to be the only one unfamiliar with the foreign title.

Twiddling at his cube, Tailgate resigned himself to a night of silent spectator when he heard a chair scrape nearby. He looked up to the face of Cyclonus, who settled in beside him. Despite the commotion happening around them, the seeker’s gaze never wavered from him.

“What’s the synopsis?” 

* * *

Tailgate was too tired to talk. After six straight cycles of back-to-back security drills and life-threatening missions, he was just about ready to collapse. Even those with military stamina had been worn thin, tempers flaring from lack of recharge and relaxation. It was during an outburst between Rodimus and Ultra Magnus (that Drift was poorly mediating) that Tailgate finally decided to take his leave, wandering the halls at a memory stick’s pace.

It felt like it was taking an eternity to make it the five miles to his hab. The barren observation decks he kept passing through were starting to look just as good as a berth, the cold glass thick and inviting. Surely a kink in his neck was worth the reprieve, he theorized, just about ready to cave to this train of thought when a slim shadow suddenly cast over him.

Had it been any other time a bout of panic would have passed through him, startled by the sudden presence, but as it was he barely extended the energy to turn his helm.

It was all the permission Cyclonus needed. 

With a strength Tailgate easily rivaled but lacked the energy to flaunt, Cyclonus scooped his tiny lover into his arms, stride calm and confident. Off-lining his visor, Tailgate was pleased to note his seeker’s armored chest was far comfier than any window could ever hope to be.

He ex-vented slowly.

“I love you.” 

There were some things he was never too tired for.

* * *

“I made it for you.” Tailgate told Cyclonus shyly, sliding his servo across their berth to intertwine their digits. He’d recently been introduced to spotify and, once he worked out the mechanics, had been making playlists right and left. There was one for Board Game Night, one for riveting the _ Lost Light _ , one for flying out on missions. But his favorite one of all was the one he’d made for Cyclonus. “I love you _ so much _ that I _ had _to find the music that showed you that.”

For such bold action and words his field was still so nervous, fearing disapproval. Cyclonus couldn’t stand to be the cause of it.

“What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful.” The seeker put in, lying through his dentae. There was no genre he hated more than country.

* * *

The scream had startled him, but there was no fear as he moved. Tailgate had been expecting this, been staying up late and waking early in preparation to catch his lover when he fell. After the Dead Universe flashback at _ Swerve’s _ it’d only been a matter of time.

Tailgate took Cyclonus’s helm into his arms, clutching his shoulders to his chest. Even through altitude thick armor he could feel the heat of his seeker’s spark spinning far too fast, feel the tremor in his servos. Cyclonus pushed at him feebly at first until recognition settled. Then he pushed harder. 

Tailgate didn’t let him run from this.

_"Shhh.” _ He soothed, holding his distraught bondmate and gently rocking. Eventually the claws on his armor became a grip, which grew into a pull. Tailgate could only oblige, leaning back so Cyclonus could bury his face against his minibot’s neck. The scent of energon goodies and apple wax was soothing, a scent that was so distinctly _ Tailgate _that it further grounded him. 

They stayed like that until the shaking eased, and still Tailgate didn’t let him go. It was a position Cyclonus found agreeable, sitting in silence and shadow.

“I love you.” The seeker said into the night.

Tailgate arched so his forehelm rested affectionately against Cyclonus’s, staring into his mate’s pale optics. His visor was warm and soft: Cyclonus never felt more safe than when he saw himself reflected in it. 

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Action speaks louder than words.


End file.
